Letters I'll Never Send

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Dear World,
Dear God (If you’re listening),
Dear You,
I don’t know anymore. Some days are good, some are… not as successful. I don’t feel- right. I feel stupid and ugly and fake all the time. But I feel fake most of all. I feel as if a mask is constantly covering my face, so that even I don’t know who I really am anymore. I would spend time with a few friends and realize I have nothing to say that is worth the words. I would talk with kids at lunch and find that I have this urge- to please them, and to gossip and spread rumors just so I can speak. Is this an act of subconscious servitude?
No, at least I don’t think so.
However, when I think of the countless talks I’ve heard about letting people like you for “who you are”, I can’t help but ask, who am I? What am I? I don’t know. I don’t have he faintest clue. I feel as though the answer is unearthly. Will I ever be able to answer it? Probably not. Maybe. As I’m asking myself why i’m sharing this to you, I answer inside my head- because this is what’s best- I question my thoughts. What is best?
I have no idea who I am, what I am. The idea is foreign to me. Yes, I know a couple things. I know I am the girl who cries all the time. The girl who sometimes wants to die, and went to see a “counselor”. I am the girl who feels like they don’t belong. But it isn’t not belonging that makes a person a person. There is more to that. And I need to find out what that part is. So now I ask myself- How? How can I find who I am, or at least who I was before I replaced my face for a mask? But most importantly, I ask do I want to know. Do I want to know that I am a jealous, callous, cold- hearted bitch inside? Do I want to know I am the complete opposite of my easy breezy attitude I now use? Do I want to find that I am actually that girl who should be bullied by all her friends and peers?
Do I?
Probably not. Maybe.
So I ask my self a series of questions.Who am I? What am I? How will I know? Do I want to know? Am I?
Taking a deep breath I repeat those words in my head, and I only see the letters spell out questions to vague and unclear to answer. Will I ever find out what I am?
Probably not. Maybe.
But, what do I know now: I am a confused thirteen year old girl (yes, thirteen) that needs help.
With love,
Hopeless